


Do You Remember

by Mouse9



Series: Tales from Baker Street [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, i love my friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:21:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21753670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse9/pseuds/Mouse9
Summary: Prompt Fic: First Kiss.Questions are asked, answers are given.More answers than anyone expected.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Tales from Baker Street [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1474946
Comments: 14
Kudos: 78





	Do You Remember

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StrangersmilesStrange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangersmilesStrange/gifts).



> This is a Christmas fic for a dear friend. I asked them several months ago to give me a prompt. They said "First Kiss" 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is not my ship, but this was written with love and respect. 
> 
> A huge thank you to @Impossiblyimprobable for looking it over and deeming it worthy. 
> 
> Happy Christmas, my dear friend.

“Do you remember your first kiss?”

The question was unexpected; not for the content but for the questioner.

John’s eyes flicked upward over the edge of his book to land on the man sitting across from him, hands folded upward under his chin in the now familiar way that signified deep thought. 

He lowered the book, exhaling loudly as he thought over the question.

“God. Um...my first real kiss? I was about eleven, which was Year Six, I think.” The memory of caramel braids and the taste of chocolate came back to him and he smiled at the memory. 

“She was in my class. Sadie...something. Brooks, Sadie Brooks. We kissed behind the slide, near a big tree where the teachers wouldn’t catch us. She tasted like chocolate. God, I haven't thought about her in years.”

He smiled once more as the memory faded, then focused on the man across from him. The man he considered his best friend. 

John opened his mouth but stopped. He could’ve asked the obvious question that should’ve followed:  _ Why are you asking? _ The questions would, of course, be followed with a terse  _ No reason _ and then the subject would be dropped. 

A different tactic needed to be implemented this day. John wanted to know where it would lead.

“Do you remember your first kiss?”

He felt a small thrill of victory as Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly, not expecting the question. They soon narrowed in thought until he shook his head. 

“I was in Uni before I became inquisitive. I was also high a vast majority of that time. I know I had sex, I remember coming down from a high more than once naked and in someplace not my room. I suppose kissing might have been involved, but I couldn’t tell you when or with whom.”

That was the most John had ever gotten Sherlock to open up about his life before Baker Street. 

The image of a younger, thinner, strung out Sherlock shagging his way through a line of junkies and dealers, chasing the next high left a sick feeling in his stomach. It must have shown on his face because at once, the open expression that had been on Sherlock closed, shuttered and returned to the usual cold flat expression the man usually held. 

“Yes, well, it was only a question.”

John was suddenly desperate to get the former expression back. Sherlock looked younger, vulnerable when his mien was unguarded. It caused a twinge of something in John’s chest. Fondness? Longing?

“What’s the first kiss you remember?”

The question, while blurted out in desperation to keep the conversation going, was still one he was curious as to the answer. 

Sherlock leaned forward, his gaze steady on John and again that twinge returned. 

“My first case once I was clean. Lestrade allowed me to look through a few old files. One involved a large blue gem stolen from a woman in her late forties. I was able to determine her niece’s boyfriend had stolen it and hidden it in a pail until he was able to pawn it off. The pail, unfortunately, happened to hold goose feed. One of the geese ate it and subsequently died. I tracked down the butcher and then the thief.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in pride at the memory of the case. 

“The woman was so elated when I returned her gem she kissed me. In front of the two members of the Met who had accompanied me to her home. Lestrade knew of it within seconds.”

“That’s...horrible!” John sputtered, horrified. “The first kiss you remember was one forced upon you by a stranger?”

Sherlock shrugged. “It makes no difference. Kissing is just a physical reaction to an emotion that, as you know, I decline to partake in-John?”

John had shot up from his chair as Sherlock spoke, taking the one and a half steps to the opposite chair Sherlock inhabited, looming over him. 

Sherlock looked up at him, neck stretched tautly, blue eyes wide, lips parted. John swallowed, suddenly nervous. 

I won’t force myself.” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Say no and I’ll stop.”

Sherlock didn’t blink, didn’t move, gaze held and locked. The tip of his tongue came out to wet his lips. 

“I should like...continue.”

At the given permission, John dipped, lips catching, capturing, holding. His eyes fell closed at the touch; lips soft and lush trembled under his with a stuttered inhale. Sherlock tasted of tobacco and tea with a hint of ginger left over from the biscuits Mrs. Hudson had brought up with tea. 

In a word, it was sublime. In two, it was addictive. John wanted more, hoped that want was reciprocated. 

Too soon it was over and John’s eyes opened as they parted to see his hands had come up to rest against that taut neck, thumb stroking the jawline. Sherlock had gripped John’s shoulder, keeping him steady as they had kissed. 

Gazes locked- blue on blue. And incredibly that tongue slid against now swollen lips once more, tasting. 

John couldn’t hold back the smile. 

“There,” his voice was raspy but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. “Now you can say you remember your first kiss.”

Sherlock said nothing, merely took in everything as John watched. 

The hand on John’s shoulder tightened momentarily before sliding towards his nape as Sherlock straightened in his chair. 

“And if I should like to remember my second as well?”

John’s smile widened as his thumb stroked along that jawline once more. 

“All you had to do was ask.” 


End file.
